


Three Days

by ScarletteStar1



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fridget, Romance, Tenderness, Trauma, fridget af, my weird smell fetish, oral stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 14:57:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15245859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletteStar1/pseuds/ScarletteStar1
Summary: Bridget goes away and leaves Franky for three days. . .





	Three Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ShiryaW](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShiryaW/gifts).



She’s gone to a conference for three days. Three fucking days. You know you can make it. You served seven years’ time practically standing on your head. Three days shouldn’t seem like an eternity.

But it does.

You like the idea of her speaking to an audience, holding the attention of a crowd rapt with her words alone. You could care less what she’s gonna say. You just like the thought of it; of her up at a podium with a mic strapped to her jacket, or better yet, to her head. You made a joke about how she’ll be like Madonna up there with her headset, all hands free so she can strike a pose.

“Madonna?” She laughed.

“Yeah, let’s see you get your Vogue on, Spunky!”

“Madonna? Really? Could you be any more hilarious, Franky?”

“Aw, come on, Gidge, you know that’s totally how your generation rolls. You gonna’ pack your bullet bra or does it take up too much space?”

“My generation? Oh you rotten thing! You know I’m not that much older than you! You do know this, right?”

“Oh is that so?”

“I did see her in concert once,” she says.

“Oh yeah! Of course you did!” You guffaw. You come up behind her and nip her neck. You shove your hands down her pants and even though dinner is on the stove, you can tell she’s hot and wet in less time than it takes to unbutton the situation and get it over her hips. “Oh you saucy vixen,” you hiss in her ear and she’s growling as she tears at your shirt. You break character just long enough to say, “Fuck, fuck, Gidge, let me just turn the stove off!”

And then you shove her down the hall to the bedroom and push her down onto the bed. Her undies are already down around her ankles and she kicks them off as you kneel in between her legs, part her knees and say, “I’m ready for an appeteaser now.” And then you go down on her but it doesn’t last nearly as long as you would have liked because she comes so fast and then she’s super sensitive and pushes your head away because she can’t manage any more. At least not just then.

“Kiss me,” she whimpers, dragging your face up to hers. So you kiss her because you’d do anything she asked. Anything, including waiting three fucking days while she goes away and speaks to a bunch of smart ass nerds about whatever it is she has to say.

“What is it you’re gonna’ talk about again?”

“Trauma informed care in rehabilitating female inmates.”

“Aw, sounds sexy when you say it like that,” you say, but you know she knows her shit. You know it because she got you here. She made you well. You kiss her again and again. “You’re gonna’ have all those nerdy professor types hanging all over ya.”

“Nope. Don’t think so.”

“Then all those little scholarly girls who go to learn are gonna’ be all hot for teacher, eh?”

“I don’t think that either.” She nuzzles you and gets up to go to the bathroom. And that’s the thing. You know even if there were a room full of chicks there all ripe and ready to tear their clothes off for her, she wouldn’t give them the time of day. Cuz that’s your girl. You lie there and taste her on your lips and you smile. You lick your lips over and over and never want the taste of her to go anywhere, but you know you have to eat.

She comes out of the bathroom in her robe. “I’m starving,” she says.

“Well, let’s feed you then,” you say and you drag your carcass off the bed to go reheat what was on the stove.

After dinner she asks again if you’ll be okay while she’s gone, and you say yeah, of course. You shrug and smile and crinkle your nose because you know she thinks it is cute, even if she knows it’s your tell and she can tell you’re lying.

Are you lying? Are you going to be okay? Or are three days apart going to cause you to shrivel up and suck into yourself like some sort of beached sea critter?

You watch her pack. She starts to put the jacket with the blue and black pattern on it into the bag and you whimper a little. She raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Not that one,” you say and snatch it out of her hand. You hold it selfishly and you don’t give a fuck if you look like a little kid. She packs something plain and beige instead and you nod. You bring the jacket to your face when she isn’t looking and you inhale. It smells like her. It smells complicated and sophisticated, but also sweet and lovely. If you close your eyes you imagine a big bowl of blackberries and cream, a kitchen full of spices with a window wide open to a garden blooming with wild roses and peonies. Under it all is the earthy almond fragrance of her own skin.

You toss the jacket on the chair next to the bed and go out to watch TV while she finishes packing.

In the morning she’s left before you wake. You’re not certain how she managed to pull that off since you were up most of the night, waiting for the moment when she’d tear herself away from you like a sticky bandage.

She leaves you a note.

_Be good, my little Puss. I’ll call you later. Love you, G. Xoxoxo._

You smile and take your solitude as an opportunity to drink juice straight out of the jug. It is not nearly as rewarding as when she’s standing there and glowering at you.

When you were little, you sucked your thumb. You did it until the kids made fun of you at school, and even then you didn’t stop entirely, you just did it in private, at night.

When she goes away (for three days) you suck on the corner of your pillow. You chew on it until it is soggy and gross and you hate yourself a little bit.

Then you throw your pillow across the room.

You roll over into her spot and curl your fists under your chin on her pillow. You inhale the scent of her like she planted a garden of herself for you and only you in the sheets. Three days. You find the different notes. The jasmine. The amber. The vanilla. You know you can make it. You smell the salt of her skin and the wild frenzy of her dreams.

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my dear lil goblin who is so sweet and wonderful and deserves all the gifts left delicately at the edge of her little goblin lair.


End file.
